Anything But Ordinary
by Starless Night
Summary: The gang is in their last year at 3rd Street Elementary. What happens when a friendship dissolves and a trio of boys is introduced? *Chapter 10: Lord of the Fashion and the Pink Philosophy*
1. Enter The Punkers

**_The Punkers_**__

**_Chapter One: _**_Enter The Punkers_

**_Author:_**_ Starless Night_

**_Rating_**_: PG_

**_Disclaimer_**_: Only the story is mine.  I'm not too sure who actually owns the rights to the Recess characters, but all the power to them.  And to Sum 41, who wrote the song used in this chapter._

                "Man, I am so bored," Spinelli mumbled from her sprawled out position on the ground.

                "Yeah, this whomps." T.J. Detweiler took his hat off and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. "What the heck happened to spring?"

                "Well, T.J.," Gretchen Grundler began, her eyes brightening behind her horn-rimmed glasses. "Due to the increasing population and the large amount of chemical waste being produced by us, the ozone layer has been thinning considerably, and the hole in that very layer is growing wider by the year. In fact, according to my research, by the time we reach the 12th grade, the hole will be so large - "

                "That's great, Gretch," T.J. interrupted. "Really, it is. But that doesn't stop it from being so hot!"

                The sun was indeed beating down hard on the playground of 3rd Street Elementary School, and T.J. and his friends had sought solace, and shade, behind the old dumpster in the corner of the yard. All over the playground, children were sluggishly playing kickball or tetherball,  and Randal Weems was hiding in the shade of Ms. Finster's huge shadow. Even Swinger Girl was swinging slowly, savoring the little breeze she could stir up. Only the Ashley's seemed to be enjoying and taking advantage of the sudden heat wave.

                "Look at those Ashley's over there," Spinelli grumbled enviously. "Lying under those umbrellas and drinking that lemonade." She paused, her brow furrowed in deep thought. "Hey! Where did they get that lemonade, anyway?"

                Everyone shrugged. Vince LeSalle licked his lips hungrily. 

                "I dunno," he said. "But it sure does look refreshing!"

                "Well, I say we go over there and demand they give us some!" Spinelli pounded a fist into the palm of her hand. "Beat it out of `em!"

                "But." Gus Griswold spoke up. "The Ashley's are so far across the playground." They all looked over at the Ashley's, the playground transforming into sand dunes and a long stretch of desert as a result of overactive imaginations and most likely a touch of heat stroke. A sigh rippled through the six friends, and they stared longingly at the cool, fresh lemonade being sipped by the Ashley's.

                Mikey Blumburg let out a moan. "Oh, cruel Fate! Why hast thou forsaken us? Shall we perish at the hands of your sister, Nature? Or will we depart this life from love lost and pain so deep? Oh, woe is me!" He clutched his hands to his chest and sighed dramatically.

                "Hey, Mikey," Spinelli said sweetly.

                "Yes, Spinelli?"

                "Would you kindly.Shut your freaking trap before I come over there and shut it for you!" She jumped up, her fist ready, but T.J. grabbed her arm and tried to hold her back. Before she could think of any way to escape his grasp, he pulled her down again.

                "Calm down, Spinelli! It's just the heat getting to your head!"

                "Yeah, well the heat better think twice about getting in this head! Next time he tries it, I'll beat the crap out of him!" She pulled back a fist and tried to hit her other hand with it, but missed and got Vince in the arm instead.

                "Uh.yeah. Okay. Um, you do that. In the meantime," T.J. took off his hat and placed it on Spinelli's head. "Wear that."

                Everyone gaped at him. T.J. rarely took off his precious red hat, and never let anyone wear it! He looked around at his friends.

                "What? She was gonna pass out. I had to do something." Everyone was still staring at him really funny. "What the heck is wrong with you guys? So I let Spinelli wear my hat. Big deal! If one of you was ready to faint, I'd give the hat to you, too!" No one looked convinced.

                Then, Spinelli sat straight up and glared at T.J. "Excuse me, but I do not faint. Girls faint. I do not faint."

                T.J. snorted. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me, and God forbid I should ever confuse you with a girl. How stupid of me."

                "Are you being sarcastic? You are, aren't you! Well, let me tell you what Spinelli's do to people who are sarcastic!" She stood up and loomed over T.J., her fist ready for another jab.

                She pulled it back and just as she was about to let the punch fly, a loud blaring noise and children yelling broke her concentration.

                "What the guacamole is that?" Gus cried, leaping to his feet.

                Gretchen pushed at her glasses, which were threatening to slip down her nose, and replied, "I believe the sound in question is a form of music, though not one I've heard before."

                Spinelli rolled her eyes. "It's punk, Gretch. Sum 41."

                "Ah, yes. I've heard of them. Are they not the ones with strange names like Cone..."

                "C'mon! The guys are leaving!" Spinelli grabbed Gretchen's arm and raced after T.J., Mikey, Gus and Vince, who were headed toward the origin of the music.

                As they rounded the corner, the noise got louder and louder, and the playground became even more deserted. The kindergartners were the only living souls in the yard, and even that could be debated. They were still tucked away in their cage in the far corner of the playground, and T.J. and his friends could hear their gibberish chanting and yelling from as far away as they were.

                "Where is everyone?" he asked, completely puzzled.

                Then Vince spotted everyone crowded around the other far corner of the playground, and pointed. "They're over there. What're the looking at?"

                Spinelli punched Vince in the arm again. "Well, why don't we go over there and see, genius?" She ran to where the kids were all standing, assuming that everyone else was right behind her. As she got closer, she recognized the sound of live music. Could it be.no, it couldn't. Could it?

                She pushed her way through the crowd, jabbing many people out of the way.

                "Hey! Watch it!" One girl cried as Spinelli elbowed her in the side.

                "Bite me!" She yelled back, and continued on her journey through the mass of kids. 

                Then she reached the front, and gaped. Before her was the most magnificent sight her young eyes had ever seen.

                Boys her own age, playing real instruments, and sounding exactly like her favorite band! There was the drummer, and the really skinny guitarist, and.

                Spinelli stared in wonder at the bass guitarist. He looked like a dark angel fallen from the sky. His hair was thick and dark like midnight. His eyes were downcast, and his fingers.oh, his fingers.

                Spinelli's young heart sighed at the sight of those long fingers caressing the neck of the guitar, and flying at an amazing speed across the strings.

                Those three boys slammed away at their instruments, and made the playground come alive.

                The blood rushed to her head, making her feel light and airy. Unbeknownst to her, Spinelli's foot began tapping along with the beat, and she began mouthing the words to the song she knew off by heart.

_"I don't want to waste my time, become another casualty of society._

_I'll never fall in line, become another victim of your conformity._

_And back down."_

                The song finished, and the crowd erupted with applause and cheering, causing the boys who had been playing to look up, completely stunned and unaware that they'd had an audience. 

                Spinelli laughed. Their expressions were priceless: The drummer looking completely out of it, like his brains had been rattled each time he had hit a beat; the thin guitarist gazing out across the playground at all the kids like he had no idea what the heck was going on; and the other guitarist, the one Spinelli had decided she would call the Fine One, just smirked like he'd known they were there the whole time.

                Before anyone else could think of it, Spinelli raced up to the boys and grinned at them. They were all a full foot or two taller than her, but she didn't care. They were the coolest people she'd ever seen before in her entire life.

                "Hey," she said, trying to act casual. "Great playing."

                The Fine One looked at her, let his eyes trail down her body and back up, then leaned on his guitar. "Thanks." He smiled at her, a smile that made her think of a hungry wolf. "I'm Chad."

                Spinelli stared at the hand he offered her, and shook it. "Spinelli." She'd never shook a real guitar player's hand before. It was a completely new feeling. His fingers were all callused and hard.

                "Spinelli, huh? Interesting name."

                "Uh," There was no way she was telling Chad her real name. "Yeah. My parent's are pretty interesting people."

                "Yeah, mine too." Chad turned around and started packing up his guitar.

                "So." Spinelli looked longingly at the guitar. "You guys in a band or something?"

                Chad laughed. "Yeah, or something."

                Spinelli frowned. "What do you mean, or something?"

                "Well, technically we are a band, but we just do cover songs, and we don't have a lead singer."

                "Oh. Well what do you guys call yourselves then?"

                The guy at the drums snickered. "The Punkers."

                "The Punkers?" Spinelli looked at Chad quizzically.

                He grinned. "Yeah. Pretty original, huh?"

                Drummer Guy spoke up again. "Mouse here, he don't talk much, but when he does.well, he came up with the name, anyway."

                "So, you're Mouse." Spinelli looked at the skinny guy. "And you're Chad." Chad nodded. "And that would make you..."

                Drummer guy grinned and stood up to his full height, which was much, much taller than Spinelli. She had to crane her neck to see his face. "Bruiser Mackenzie at your service, ma'am." He bowed, and made Spinelli giggle. Inwardly, of course.

                "Nice to meet you, Bruiser. So did you guys just move here?"

                Chad hefted his guitar case onto his shoulders. "You could say that," he replied.

                "Um.okay." She decided to just skip that question. "Do you guys go to 3rd Street now, or what?"

                Chad shook his head. "Nope."

                "Alright," she drew out the word, obviously not catching something he was saying. "Why were you practicing here then?"

                His face became blank, and he looked like he was searching for an answer. "Uh.we were.waiting for Bruiser's aunt! Yeah, that's it. Bruiser's aunt."

                "What? My aunt?" Bruiser looked totally mortified. "She's not my aunt, she's - "

                "Chad! Chad Williams, where are you?"

                Spinelli's jaw dropped as the voice echoed through the playground. "Miss Grotke is your aunt?" she asked Chad, completely stunned.

                Chad appeared to be completely uncomfortable caught in this situation. "Well, you see."

                Miss Grotke emerged around the side of the building and stood in front of the four of them, hands on her hips and a very irritated expression on her face. "Chad, I've been looking for you all over the school!"

                "Sorry, Aunt Alordyne." He looked down at his shoes.

                Spinelli stiffled back a laugh. "Alordyne?!"

                And Miss Ashley Spinelli, aren't you supposed to be in class?" Miss Grotke rounded on Spinelli.

                Chad smirked. "Ashley?!"

                Spinelli shot him a death look. "But the bell hasn't even rung yet!"

                Miss Grotke, pointed at the large clock above the front doors, and the bell sounded, making Spinelli, Chad and the other two jump.

                "How'd she do that?" Bruiser whispered in awe.

                "Get to class." Spinelli didn't move. "Now!"

                "Okay, okay! I'm going!" With one last sympathy glance at Chad and his band, she sped off toward the front doors. 

                "What's with her?" Spinelli muttered to herself. Usually Miss Grotke was a carefree, live-for-peace-and-love kind of teacher. But today she was just plain old grumpy! 

_                Probably forgot to feed her goldfish this morning_, Spinelli thought. The notion that her new friend Chad might have something to do with Miss Grotke's bad mood never even entered her mind. But before the end of the year, Spinelli and the rest of the 6th grade class at 3rd Street Elementary School would have a pretty good idea of Chad Williams' real reason for being there.


	2. Insanity and Complications

**_Disclaimer: _**_If only I owned the characters of Recess…then everyone would be in love with me…well, maybe not, but then I'd have the satisfaction of being semi-rich._

**_Chapter Two:_**_ Insanity and Complications_

The seconds ticked by, but still there was no sign of Miss Grotke. Her 6th grade class was getting restless. Paper airplanes were being thrown, spitballs were being spat, and curses were being yelled. There was also speculation and rumors being spread around the classroom of Miss Grotke's whereabouts.

"I'll bet she was kidnapped by aliens," one kid whispered to another.

"No, she was _abducted_ by aliens, stupid!" the other kid whispered back and slapped the back of his friend's head.

Another kid put in his two cents. "Naw, I'll bet she joined a secret government agency and is off killing monsters and goblins."

"No, dragons!"

"Pirates!'

"The kindergartners!"

Kids were yelling to get their ideas and opinions heard. Finally, Spinelli got so fed up with the screaming and ridiculous suggestions, she stood on her desk and let out a screeching whistle. The kids all stopped and stared at her.

"People! Calm down! Miss Grotke is not off fighting monsters, or pirates, or kindergartners, even though she should be. She's talking to Chad."

"Who's Chad?" a voice called from the back of the class.

"Chad's the lead singer of that band you guys all head playing at recess. He's – "

She was about to tell everyone Chad's connection to their teacher when the kids erupted in sound again.

"He's kidnapped her!"

"Took her to the kindergartners and now they're devouring her…"

"He's gonna murder her and send us her body in a big cardboard box!"

"He's making her watch _Alf_ reruns!"

Screams were head from every corner of the room and everyone except Spinelli, her friends, and the Ashleys, dove under their desks. Spinelli just winced at the mention of the worst show in the entire world.

The Ashleys sighed in unison. "He's so dreamy!"

"Who, Alf?" Spinelli asked in disbelief and disgust.

"Ewww!" The Ashleys all squealed.

"No!" Ashley A. wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. "Chad! Like, duh!"

Even Spinelli could not disagree with that. But she frowned at the four girls anyway, and opened her mouth to say something that would contradict it when…

Miss Grotke burst into the classroom, dark hair flying ever which way, eyes wild with anger. She focused those crazy eyes on Spinelli and bellowed, "Ashley Spinelli! Get off that desk this instant!"

Spinelli slowly climbed down.

"And the rest of you, desks are for sitting in, not hiding under!" The kids crawled out, wary of what their obviously loony teacher would say or do next. "I did not accompany you to this school to watch you act like kindergartners!"

"I'll bet Chad really did make her watch _Alf_!" Vince mumbled to himself, just loud enough for Miss Grotke to hear.

Miss Grotke's head whipped around and she shot a death glare at Vince. "Don't you ever mention that repulsive name in this classroom again," she said through clenched teeth.

Vince frowned. "What, _Alf_?"

"No, the other one."

"Oh, you mean…"

"Don't," Miss Grotke snapped, "even think about saying it, Mr. LeSalle." She squeezed her eyes shut and took a few deep breaths. "Okay, class."

Everyone tensed, ready to escape should the need arise. Meaning, if Miss Grotke should have another little outburst.

"Open your textbooks to page 23. We're going to start learning about the lifestyle and times of the Ancient Egyptians."

A sigh of relief rippled through the class as they opened their books.

_Thank goodness she didn't find the spitball in her desk drawer,_ Spinelli thought to herself. And she spoke a moment too soon.

Miss Grotke did indeed find the slobbery, soggy ball of paper in her desk drawer, and proceeded to pick it up between her fingers, holding it as though it were a dead rat. She turned and faced the class with this disgusting wad in her hand. Everyone froze.

They waited…

…and waited.

But still Miss Grotke stood there holding that mess, and saying nothing.

Then, quick as lightning, she flung it across the classroom, and it landed with a loud _flop_ on the other wall. Her students just gazed at her, completely and utterly stunned at this stranger behavior their teacher was showing. Not a single child moved in their seat.

Miss Grotke stared in revulsion at the glob of…stuff on the wall, then spun on her heels and snatched her textbook off the desk.

"The Egyptians were ahead of their time in both technology and maturity…" she began reading out of the text.

_Woah, calm down turbo,_ Spinelli thought. _I think she's lost a few of her marbles. Or gone off her rocker. Or…what's another one of those crazy things? I dunno. She's gone insane. And what was with that whole Chad thing?_ She shrugged. _Meh. Not my problem. _

She focused on the words in the book instead of the thoughts in her head.

*~*~*~*~*~*

"Gee whiz, what was with Miss Grotke today?" Gus asked no one in particular.

"Yeah," T.J. replied, a pondering look in his eyes. "Did you see how huffy she got when Vince mentioned Chad's name? What's up with that?" He glanced around at his friends. "Anyone know?" He focused in on Spinelli who seemed incredibly interested in her shoe. "Spinelli?"

Her head shot up, eyes looking very guilty. "Huh? I…uh…I don't know nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing." She glanced around nervously. Then wondered why the heck she was so nervous.

_Maybe insanity is contagious,_ she thought, then laughed at herself.

T.J. lifted a brow. "Don't know anything, huh? Well, let's just see how much you really do know."

"What?"

"Swinger Girl said she saw you talking to that guy, Chad, right after they were done playing at recess."

"Yeah, so I was talking to him. What does that have to do with anything?" Spinelli replied defensively.

"Well," T.J. continued. "Swinger Girl also said that you looked pretty fascinated by what he was saying. And by him in general. Anything you want to share?"

"What, are you like jealous or something, Teej?" Spinelli said without thinking, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

T.J. stopped dead in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

Gretchen, Gus, and Mikey glanced at each other knowingly.

"Uh…I just remembered…I have to…uh…" Gus fumbled for an excuse to leave.

Gretchen jumped in. "We have to go to the library. To study. Right, guys?"

Gus and Mikey nodded, but Vince just watched T.J. and Spinelli, who were still glaring at each other, with growing interest. 

Gretchen grabbed his arm. "C'mon, Vince!"

"But I wanna stay!" He tried to pull his arm out of Gretchen's surprisingly firm grip with no avail.

"No, Vince. We have to go!"

"But why?"

Gretchen tugged at his arm until he fell into step with the rest of them, leaving T.J. and Spinelli behind. "I'll explain on the way.

With one last glance behind him, Vince grudgingly followed the rest of his friends. He knew there was something between T.J. and Spinelli, even if they didn't know it themselves. Something that went much deeper than that one kiss the two had shared a few years ago behind the old dumpster; something that none of them were ready to face quite yet.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The street was silent. Even the birds had stopped singing their songs to watch the two kids stare each other down. Neither budged from their position, each one waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, T.J. broke the silence.

"What did you say?" he repeated very slowly, trying to control the sudden anger he felt.

Spinelli squared her shoulders and set her jaw. "You heard me." She was suddenly very afraid of the boy she was facing.

He glared at her. "There is no _way_ I'm jealous of that loser."

"Loser? _Loser?_ You, Theodore Detweiler, are calling Chad, the singer of the coolest band ever, a loser?" She raised an eyebrow. "Where do you come off saying something like that? That's just your jealousy speaking."

"I have no reason to be jealous of him. So why would you say I am? I'm not." T.J. babbled.

"You really _are _jealous of him, aren't you, Teej? Why do you suppose that is?"

T.J. blinked. "I'm not jealous. Why should I be? I'm not!"

"Okay, Teej. Whatever you say." Spinelli nodded and looked at him like he had no idea what he was talking about.

Then he exploded. "I don't like you hanging out with him! I saw the expression on your face when the Ashley's mentioned Chad. I saw it!"

"Saw what, exactly, Theodore? A frown? Because that's exactly what I did! I frowned." And she did so again. "Why am I explaining myself to you? You don't deserve an explanation. You don't even deserve my time!" She turned away in a huff.

She had taken only two steps when T.J. grabbed her arm and pulled him to her, crushing his mouth to hers. Spinelli couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything but the lips that were on hers. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with as much enthusiasm and passion as he gave her. The world was spinning out of control, but neither one cared.

T.J. had no idea what the heck had come over him. Spinelli had turned her back on him, and he just snapped. Now here they were, locked together like the world could end any second, and he couldn't think of anything but the fact that her mouth was currently devouring his, and he had this really strange feeling rushing through his body. It was a foreign, yet oddly familiar feeling.

Then Spinelli pulled away.

"Woah," she said, her mind still reeling. "That was…that was…"

"Amazing," T.J. suggested.

"Yeah." Spinelli sighed.

They glanced at each other, and then it dawned on them just how weird the situation was. They leaped apart, and Spinelli said, "Um…how about we just keep this…matter to ourselves. Okay?"  She bit her lip.  "Because, you know, if you tell anyone, I'll have to kick your ass and all that stuff."

T.J. looked sideways at her. "Yeah. Sounds good. Well, I better be getting home. So…"

Spinelli glanced at the ground and back up at T.J., and smiled to herself. His face had gone beet red.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," she said.

"Yeah."

"So...bye."

They turned and walked separate ways, T.J. tripping only once, and Spinelli walking into just one tree.

When they were just out of hearing distance, a snicker was heard from a bush, and a red sneaker found it's way to the sunlight. A greasy head popped out, making sure the coast was clear

Then, with another snicker, Randall Weems crawled out from his hiding space, digital camera in one hand, tape recorder in the other.

"This is great!" he cackled. "T.J. Detweiler and Ashley Spinelli! I always knew there was something between the two of them!"

He glanced around to make sure there was no one to listen to his ranting and raving.

"Just _think_ of what I can make them do for me now, what with this little piece of yummy information! I'm such a genius!  Mwahahahahahahahaha!" He threw his head back and laughed menacingly.

"Now I _will_ take over the playground!" With that last declaration, he raced down the street to his house to print off his new discovery.


	3. The Talk

**Disclaimer:** _You all know what goes here._

**_Chapter Three:_**_ The Talk_

The next morning, Spinelli woke with the sun shining on her face, and panic roaming in her mind. All night she had tossed and turned, fretting over what she should, and could, say to T.J. when they saw each other on the walk to school.

She had come up with nothing. Well, not nothing, exactly. A million "what if" scenarios had played through her imagination, each one ending with her and T.J. either hating each other, or falling in love.

Spinelli didn't know which one was worse.

If they ended up hating each other, she would lose her best friend. But if they ended up falling in love, she would still lose her best friend, and they could never go back to what they were before. It was one direction or the other.

And that thought just put her in a really bad mood.

Determined to push it to the back of her mind until the time came to face reality, Spinelli untangled herself from her blankets and scrounged her bedroom for something that smelled relatively clean. Or something that at least looked clean.

After a very painful search, she finally found a pair of tie-up jean shorts and a red t-shirt. She yanked her thick, black hair into her trademark messy pigtails, and grabbed her old but ever-favorite orange hat from it's hook beside the door before racing downstairs.

She tried to sneak past her parents in the kitchen, but her mother, using the superpowers that all mothers must be awarded after giving birth, yelled, "Oh, Pookey! Come have some breakfast! Your father and I want to talk to you!"

_Oh, great,_ Spinelli groaned. _A morning conversation with my parents. This oughta be fun._

She skulked into the kitchen, making it obvious that she'd rather be anywhere else but here. Her father grunted his usual good-morning from behind his newspaper, and her mother just grinned at her. She handed her a piece of burnt toast.

"Here you go, sweetheart. Sit down."

Spinelli plopped down in a chair facing her mother, and poked at the toast. She looked at her mother expectantly, waiting for her to explain what the sudden get-together was all about.

Flo Spinelli just smiled at her daughter, and took a dainty bite of her own burnt toast, and made a face.

Spinelli yawned and scratched her nose.

With a sigh, Flo clasped her hands on the tabletop and glared at her husband, who was still engrossed in the morning's sports news.

She cleared her throat. He didn't acknowledge her. Giving up, Flo kicked her husband's shin, making him yelp and throw the papers up in the air.

Spinelli watched with amusement as the newspapers fluttered down on her dad's head, and her mother stifled a laugh.

"Bob!" Flo said sharply, or as sharply as she could under the circumstances.

He looked at her sheepishly from underneath his newspaper cover. "Sorry," he replied, folding up the newspapers and placing them under the table.

Flo rolled her eyes and looked back at her daughter who seemed incredibly fascinated by the patterns on the tablecloth.

"Ashley, honey, your father and I need to talk to you."

Bob's face grew bright red.

_Uh oh,_ Spinelli panicked. _It's The Talk. They're going to give me The Talk! What do they think I am, stupid?_

"Um…about what?" Her mind raced for a way to escape. She glanced at the clock above her father's head, but it was only 8:00. She didn't have to meet the guys for another half-hour.

She willed time to go faster.

Flo glanced at her husband who seemed mesmerized by the checkered tablecloth. She sighed.

"You've been acting sort of strange lately, and your father and I were wondering, well, who the boy was."

_Oh, ha ha, it's not **The **Talk. It's just _**a **_talk. Thank goodness. Wait a minute. Boy? What boy?_ Spinelli thought of Chad, but that wouldn't work, because she'd only met him the day before.

Then she thought of T.J.

_Oh, crap. How in the heck could they have found out about yesterday?_

"Um…what boy?" Spinelli tried to play innocent.

"Honey, we're not blind. You've been acting…different. More, well, like a girl. Not that that's a bad thing," Flo rushed to explain, "it's just not normal for you to be so…so…"

"Girly," Bob put in.

_Okay, so they don't know about yesterday._

"Yes, girly. And yesterday when you came home, you looked quite dazed. And when you walked into the walls a few times, and we got quite worried."

_I walked into the walls? Man, that kiss had quite the punch._

"So, we would like to know if you're…seeing a boy."

Spinelli laughed. "Sure, I see a lot of boys."

Her parents gaped at her.

"W-what?" her mother sputtered.

"Yeah. You know, like every day at school…" she laughed again at her parent's relieved expressions. "Calm down, you guys. Yesterday was nothing. I was just a little weirded out, that's all." She got up from the table and put a fresh piece of bread in the toaster.

"Weirded out?" her mother asked, still reeling from her daughters previous statement.

"Yeah, you know. When you do something that's like completely not what you usually do but for some reason it feels just so incredibly perfect, it just makes you…weirded out."

"Oh…" Flo narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What did you do?"

Spinelli laughed again. "Nothing, mom. Nothing." She took a big bite of the toast she had just successfully burned and said, "Ifs whuts husth af kift."

"What?" Bob asked, obviously not able to understand food-talk.

Spinelli swallowed, realizing her mistake. Now she'd have to repeat it so they could understand. Maybe she could make something up that sounded like that. 

But she was drawing a blank.

"I said, it was just a kiss." She stared at the tablecloth again, awaiting her parent's reaction.

They were silent.

She looked up at them, hoping for the best. Her father's face was beet red again and her mother was talking to her father.

"Bob, we have to talk to her."

He shook his head. "You do it. I'm going into the den to read my newspaper." He grabbed his paper from the ground and raced down the stairs.

Spinelli groaned. **_Now_**_ it's the talk. Why do I always have to open my big mouth? Not that it's always a bad thing. Like yesterday when I was kissing T.J…._

She giggled, and Flo looked at her, completely taken aback. She had never _ever_ heard her daughter giggle.

"Pookey, who did you kiss?"

Spinelli didn't answer. _I can't possibly tell my mother, of all people, that I kissed my best friend in the entire world. What would she say? Wait, why do I care what she would say?_

"Ashley, honey, who's the boy?"

Spinelli mumbled something.

"What? Pookey, I couldn't hear that."

"I said," Spinelli looked at her mother with a determined look, "it was T.J."

Her mother stared at her and then blinked. "I'm sorry. Did you just say that you kissed T.J.? As in Theodore Detweiler? The same T.J. who spent the night here last weekend?"

Spinelli rolled her eyes. "Yes, mom. I said T.J., as in Theodore Detweiler. And it wasn't just him that spent that spent the night. Gretchen, Mikey, Vince, and Gus were here, too."

"Right." Her mother seemed unconvinced.

"And I didn't just kiss him."

Flo got a scared look on her face. "What else did you do? Did you do anything else?"

"No, mom. For Heaven's sake. He kissed me, too. So it wasn't like a one-sided thing."

Flo narrowed her eyes. "What kind of kissing did you two do?"

"Um…"

"Was it just a little peck, or was it on the mouth?"

_Lie, Spinelli. Just lie. Say it was a peck._

"Um…on the mouth…"

_Well for Christ's sake. What is wrong with you? _

"Is that all you did?"

"Um…"

_Don't ask about tongue…don't ask about tongue…_

"Did you use your tongues?"

_What is it with this woman? I swear she has some sort of psychic ability. _

"Um…"

_God, if you're out there, please strike me down with a lightning bolt right about now. Please._

Flo gasped. "You did! Ashley, when you use your tongue when kissing a boy, he's going to think that you're willing to do more. You have to be careful…"

"For Christ's sake, mom! It was just…a…kiss." Spinelli drew out the words. "And he didn't try to jump me or anything. So simmer."

"Try to…" Flo's old-fashioned mind searched for the meaning. Then she gasped again. "Ashley Spinelli! Where did you learn language like that?"

Spinelli rolled her eyes yet again. "Come on, mom. You can't go through the public school system without picking up language like that. If you haven't learned it, you must have spent the entire year at home."

"And do you know what it means?" Flo prodded.

"Yeah."

"So…care to explain?"

"Um…it means to…um…"

Flo just waited patiently.

"It means to have sex." Spinelli's face turned beet red, exactly like her father's, and she stared a the table again.

"And do you know what sex is?"

"Well, yeah. Duh."

"Duh?" Flo began to panic again. "What do you mean, 'duh'? It's your friends, isn't it? Your friends and that - that gutter-minded boy who put those thoughts into your mind.  I'm going to phone his parents and give them a piece of my mind."

Spinelli just watched her mother as she raced around the kitchen looking for the phone. "Mom."

Flo didn't hear her. She had found the phone and was dialing the Detweiler's number. "I'll give that boy a piece of my mind. And then I'll have him arrested. That's what I'll do," she muttered as she pounded out the numbers on the phone.

Spinelli jumped out of her chair and grabbed the phone away from Flo. "Mom! It wasn't T.J. or anyone else who put 'those thoughts' into my head! They're _not_ how I know what sex is!"

Flo stared at her. "Why did you say 'duh' then?"

"Because we learned about it in Sex Ed this year!" Spinelli slammed the phone on the counter. "I can't believe you would say something like that about my friends!" She glanced at the clock. "And thanks so much for making me late for school!"

She grabbed her jean jacket from the coat rack and raced out the front door in the direction of the school. "Bye!"

She had five minutes to get to school, and she lived ten minutes away. That just meant she'd have to run really fast, with no stopping for air.

_Leave it up to my mother to pick 8 in the morning to have a heart-to-heart mother/daughter talk,_ she thought furiously and cursed her mother's bad timing.


	4. Threats

**_Chapter Four:_**_ Threats_

**_Disclaimer: _**_I don't own the Recess characters, blah blah blah. The Punkers ARE in this chapter (yay!!!) but they're starting to show their "bad" side, as is T.J. (and I invented his "bad" side because I want him to be a kick-ass, take-no-shit-from-anybody-kinda guy) so don't hate me. Um…I really need to know if Miss Grotke has any brothers or sisters. If she doesn't, I'm just going to make some up. And please, please, PLEASE remember that this is a realistic-ish story, and it's not really like the cartoon. Mainly because I don't know the names of all the kids in school (the secondary ones, like Swinger Girl and Upside-Down Girl), and because I'm much, MUCH to mature to write something like a cartoon.  Ha ha. _

As she ran down the street, Spinelli replayed the conversation she'd just had with her mother, and tried to figure out how the heck she had managed to turn a simple question into The Talk. And it wasn't even really much of The Talk, anyway, since her mom was probably clinically insane.

_Crazy mother.  What's the chance I end up like her when I'm that age?  _

_I wonder what T.J. would do if I just walked up to him and did that again? Man, the fun I could have with this…_

_This is kinda strange. I mean, I know I've had this kinda-crush on Teej since I was, like, five, but this is just getting totally out of hand. Me walking into walls? Please…_

_But that is kinda funny, if you think about it. I've never been this twisted up about a guy before, especially one that's my best friend._

Spinelli got to the front gates of the school yard only minutes before the first bell rang, but it was completely devoid of any human life. 

She just stood there, trying to catch her breath, and trying to remember if Principal Prickly had said anything about school starting earlier. But she couldn't think of anything of the sort.

Why was the playground so empty, then?

_Man, this is kinda creepy. Totally deja-vu. Exact same as yesterday…so that must mean everyone is over…_

She scanned the playground and spotted all the kids clustered around the same corner they had been the morning before. 

_There!_

Then she remembered _who_ the kids had been so eager to watch yesterday. For some reason, Spinelli had a really bad feeling about this certain point of interest.

She raced across the sand, and as she got closer and closer and heard the familiar yells and jeers that usually accompanied a fight, dread grew in her mind. She pushed her way through the mob of children, jabbing the same girl from the day before in the side, and emerged into the clearing that had been formed around Chad, Mouse, and Bruiser.

Except this time, they weren't playing any music, and they weren't alone in the circle.

Spinelli gaped as Mouse held Randall Weems still for Bruiser to ram his beefy fist again and again into Randall's stomach. 

Chad was standing at Randall's side, yelling, "Ready to talk yet, Worms?" Randall weakly shook his head, and Chad signaled for Bruiser to keep punching.

Randall had a black eye, a bloody nose and a split lip, which told Spinelli that he'd already been hit a few times in the face.

As much as Spinelli hated Randall, she wasn't about to tolerate this kind of abuse on her playground, so she stepped further into the circle.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

All heads whipped around to look at her, and Bruiser's hand froze an inch away from Randall's stomach. Mouse dropped him and appeared very ashamed, but Chad just gave her that beautiful smile of his. As soon as Randall fell to the ground, the crowd began to disperse, realizing that the fight was over.

"Hey, Spinelli! We were just giving this little worm here a lesson in who not to trouble with," Chad stated arrogantly, waving his hand at a bloodied Randall.

Spinelli glanced at the boy, who looked ready to pass out at any second. "Trouble with?"

"Yeah, you know. Mess with, blackmail, that sort of thing."

"Um…okay…but why are you beating him up? Couldn't you just talk to him?" Spinelli walked over to Randall to help him up, but Chad stood in her way. She glared at Chad, but he didn't budge.

"Tried that. Little bugger wouldn't listen, so we had to resort to desperate measures." He drawled the last bit, sneering at Randall still whimpering on the ground.

"Yeah, I'm sure you guys were _really_ reluctant to do beat on him," Spinelli muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Chad to hear, and barged past him to get to Randall.

He scowled at her. "I don't think you understand, Spinelli. He was gonna blackmail you. I just couldn't let him do that."

"Blackmail me?" Spinelli froze in her attempt to help Randall to his feet. She dropped his arm and stepped back. "What do you mean, blackmail me?"

"You know…he's got a tidbit of information that could 'ruin your reputation forever,' as he claims, and was about to spread it around when I caught him. Wouldn't tell me what the juice is, though. Ain't that right, Worms? Too stupid to talk?" Chad kicked some dirt in Randall's face.

Spinelli spun on Randall. "What information? What do you know, Weems?"

"Something that'll ruin you forever," Randall spat.

"Yeah, so Chad said. What is it, Randall?" Spinelli took a step closer.

He spat out a bloodied tooth and stepped up to her so they were nose to nose, and leaned closer until his lips were right next to her ear, and whispered, "I know about you and Detweiler," he sneered and shoved a bloodied envelope into her hand.

"What do you mean, you know about us? What is there to know?"

"I know about…yesterday…under the willow tree…"

She ripped open the envelope and slowly pulled out the sheets of paper inside.  _The willow tree…_Pictures of her and T.J. under the willow tree...__

Spinelli sucked in a breath. "Shit," she whispered.

Randall smiled a bloody grin. "Yeah, bad shit for you, great shit for me. And you know what I'm going to do with this marvelous shit of mine?"

She stared at him with horrified eyes. "I'm afraid to ask."

Randall opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he was going to do, when a familiar voice from behind Spinelli asked, "There a problem here?"

Spinelli spun around and very nearly wept with relief. "T.J.! Thank God you're here?"

"Uh…yeah. So is there a problem?" Then he took a good look at Randall. "Dude, what happened to your face? I mean, it was ugly before, but now, it's like looking at the living dead!"

"He took a little…beating from Bruiser here for withholding information," Chad spoke up.

T.J. barely even glanced in his direction. "Really? And what sort of information is that?" He moved next to Spinelli, somehow creating a sort of barrier between her and Randall. Chad looked on in surprise as T.J. completely took over the situation, protecting Spinelli from any sort of danger that Randall would send forth.

Randall glanced from T.J. to Spinelli, and then backed off, sensing that he could do no more damage here. He'd have to wait until they were alone; then he'd blackmail them one on one, individually, when they didn't have the protection of each other.

"I'll talk to you," he pointed to the both of them in turn, "later. But now, I need to go see Ms. Finster about some first aid." At that, he ran off, leaving the rest of them staring after him.

No one spoke.

Then Spinelli said, "He knows, Teej."

He looked at her, puzzled. "Knows about what?"

She handed him the photos.  "About yesterday."


	5. The Perfect Plan

_**Chapter Four:** Threats_

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Recess characters, blah blah blah. The Punkers ARE in this chapter but they're starting to show their "bad" side, as is T.J. (and I invented his "bad" side because I want him to be a kick-ass, take-no-shit-from-anybody-kinda guy, but he's also the sensitive type who like to cry at random moments) so don't hate me. Um...I really need to know if Miss Grotke has any brothers or sisters. If she doesn't, I'm just going to make some up. And please, please, PLEASE remember that this is a realistic-ish story, and it's not really like the cartoon. Mainly because I don't know the names of all the kids in school (the secondary ones, like Swinger Girl and Upside-Down Girl), and because I'm much, MUCH to mature to write something like a cartoon. Ha ha. _

As she ran down the street, Spinelli replayed the conversation she'd just had with her mother, and tried to figure out how the heck she had managed to turn a simple question into The Talk. And it wasn't even really much of The Talk, anyway, since her mom was probably clinically insane.

_Crazy mother. What's the chance I end up like her when I'm that age? _

_I wonder what T.J. would do if I just walked up to him and did that again? Man, the fun I could have with this..._

_This is kinda strange. I mean, I know I've had this kinda-crush on Teej since I was, like, five, but this is just getting totally out of hand. Me walking into walls? Please..._

_But that is kinda funny, if you think about it. I've never been this twisted up about a guy before, especially one that's my best friend._

_Then again, I am only eleven. But wasn't that Juliet whatsherface like, thirteen when she fell in love with that Romeo dude? And they only knew each other for what, like five minutes? I've known T.J. for pretty much my whole life –_

_Woah, okay, time to slow down. When I start comparing our...relationship, if we can even call it that, to two people who killed themselves over 'love'..._

_Maybe I am going crazy._

Spinelli got to the front gates of the school yard only minutes before the first bell rang, but it was completely devoid of any human life.

She just stood there, trying to catch her breath, and trying to remember if Principal Prickly had said anything about school starting earlier. But she couldn't think of anything of the sort.

Why was the playground so empty, then?

_Man, this is kinda creepy. Totally deja-vu. Exact same as yesterday...so that must mean everyone is over..._

She scanned the playground and spotted all the kids clustered around the same corner they had been the morning before.

_There!_

Then she remembered _who_ the kids had been so eager to watch yesterday. For some reason, Spinelli had a really bad feeling about this certain point of interest.

She raced across the sand, and as she got closer and closer and heard the familiar yells and jeers that usually accompanied a fight, dread grew in her mind. She pushed her way through the mob of children, jabbing the same girl from the day before in the side, and emerged into the clearing that had been formed around Chad, Mouse, and Bruiser.

Except this time, they weren't playing any music, and they weren't alone in the circle.

Spinelli gaped as Mouse held Randall Weems still for Bruiser to ram his beefy fist again and again into Randall's stomach.

Chad was standing at Randall's side, yelling, "Ready to talk yet, Worms?" Randall weakly shook his head, and Chad signaled for Bruiser to keep punching.

Randall had a black eye, a bloody nose and a split lip.

As much as Spinelli hated Randall, she wasn't about to tolerate this kind of abuse on her playground, unless, of course, it was done by herself, so she stepped further into the circle.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

All heads whipped around to look at her, and Bruiser's hand froze an inch away from Randall's stomach. Mouse dropped him and his face reddened, but Chad just gave her that beautiful smile of his. As soon as Randall fell to the ground, the crowd began to disperse, realizing that the fight was over.

"Hey, Spinelli! We were just giving this little worm here a lesson in who not to trouble with," Chad stated arrogantly, waving his hand at a bloodied Randall.

Spinelli glanced at the boy, who looked ready to pass out at any second. "Trouble with?"

"Yeah, you know. Mess with, blackmail, that sort of thing."

"Um...okay...but why are you beating him up? Couldn't you just talk to him?" Spinelli walked over to Randall to help him up, but Chad stood in her way. She glared at Chad, but he didn't budge.

"Tried that. Little bugger wouldn't listen, so we had to resort to desperate measures." He drawled the last bit, sneering at Randall still whimpering on the ground.

"Yeah, I'm sure you guys were _really_ reluctant to do beat on him," Spinelli muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Chad to hear, and barged past him to get to Randall.

He scowled at her. "I don't think you understand, Spinelli. He was gonna blackmail you. I just couldn't let him do that."

"Blackmail me?" Spinelli froze in her attempt to help Randall to his feet. She dropped his arm and stepped back. "What do you mean, blackmail me?"

"You know...he's got a tidbit of information that could 'ruin your reputation forever,' as he claims, and was about to spread it around when I caught him. Wouldn't tell me what the juice is, though. Ain't that right, Worms? Too stupid to talk?" Chad kicked some dirt in Randall's face.

Spinelli spun on Randall. "What information? What do you know, Weems?"

"Something that'll ruin you forever," Randall spat.

"Yeah, so Chad said. What is it, Randall?" Spinelli took a step closer.

He spat out a bloodied tooth and stepped up to her so they were nose to nose, and leaned closer until his lips were right next to her ear, and whispered, "I know about you and Detweiler," he sneered and shoved a bloodied envelope into her hand.

"What do you mean, you know about us? What is there to know?"

"I know about...yesterday...under the willow tree..."

She ripped open the envelope and slowly pulled out the sheets of paper inside. _The willow tree..._Pictures of her and T.J. under the willow tree...

Spinelli sucked in a breath. "Shit," she whispered.

Randall smiled a bloody grin. "Yeah, bad shit for you, great shit for me. And you know what I'm going to do with this marvelous shit of mine?"

She stared at him with horrified eyes. "I'm afraid to ask."

Randall opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he was going to do, when a familiar voice from behind Spinelli asked, "There a problem here?"

Spinelli spun around and very nearly wept with relief. "T.J.! Thank God you're here?"

"Uh...yeah. So is there a problem?" Then he took a good look at Randall. "Dude, what happened to your face? I mean, it was ugly before, but now..." He shook his head.

"He took a little...beating from Bruiser here for withholding information," Chad spoke up.

T.J. barely even glanced in his direction. "Really? And what sort of information is that?" He moved next to Spinelli, somehow creating a sort of barrier between her and Randall. Chad looked on in surprise as T.J. completely took over the situation, protecting Spinelli from any sort of danger that Randall would present in his current condition.

Randall glanced from T.J. to Spinelli, and then backed off, sensing that he could do no more damage here. He'd have to wait until they were alone; then he'd blackmail them one on one, individually, when they didn't have the protection of each other.

"I'll talk to you," he pointed to the both of them in turn, "later. But now, I need to go see Ms. Finster about some first aid." At that, he ran off, leaving the rest of them staring after him.

No one spoke.

Then Spinelli said, "He knows, Teej."

He looked at her, puzzled. "Knows about what?"

She handed him the photos. "About yesterday."


	6. Recess of Doom

_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Please don't sue me. I'll cry._

_**Disclaimer 2: **Another new character appears in this chapter. I just realized that I'm inserting more of my own characters than I am of original characters. I'll try to stop. I promise._

_**Chapter Six:** The Recess of Doom_

The seconds ticked by. The students of Miss Grotke's 6th grade class were becoming restless, and they all watched the clock with growing anticipation.

All except two.

Spinelli stared at her desktop, willing the minutes to go backwards, to rewind themselves to yesterday and that single moment when she'd been stupid enough to agree to T.J.'s _perfect plan_. It had seemed the only opportunity, at the time, to escape Randall's attempt at blackmail, but the more she thought about it, the more Spinelli regretted agreeing to it. Especially since the whole time T.J. had been explaining it, she'd been listening with a sinking heart.

By going through with this, she would not only lose her pride, but also the reputation she'd worked so hard these past few years to get. But that wasn't the least of her worries. Aside from sacrificing her dignity, she would lose the only friends she'd ever known.

Spinelli sighed and glanced at the clock. 10:14. Only one minute remained between now and the Recess of Doom, as Spinelli called it. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself at home on the couch, watching WWF...and instead found herself thinking about that fate-deciding kiss.

Two desks behind her, T.J. was thinking about the exact same thing.

He ran his finger along a gouge in his desk, and wished with all his heart he hadn't thought of this plan. But what else was there to do? He was left with no choice.

The bell rang, sounding their doom. While the other kids jumped out of their seats and raced for the door, T.J. and Spinelli stood slowly and faced each other. Ms Grotke sensed the tension between the two and, without a sound, exited the room as well.

"Show time," T.J. said with a wry smile.

Spinelli nodded, trying not to looking T.J. in the face for fear that the tears she was holding back would overflow.

"Spinelli?"

She looked out the window to the kids running and playing. _I will not cry...I will not cry..._

A single tear rolled down her cheek. She furiously wiped it away. "What?"

T.J. cautiously edged closer to her. "You okay?"

Spinelli sniffed and tried to blink away the tears that were welling up in her eyes. "Yeah," she choked out.

T.J. stared at her. "You're crying. Why are you crying? You can't cry. You never cry." He looked more than a little panicked.

"I know that, okay?" she yelled, turning around to face him, her face wet with tears. "God." She wiped away more tears that rolled down her cheeks. "I can't do this. I – I'm sorry, Teej. I can't do it," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I can't get in a fight with you."

He put his arm around her shoulders. "We don't really have a choice here, Spinelli. It's either this, or have Randall control us and the rest of the playground for the rest of the year."

Spinelli leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I know. I – I just..."

T.J. turned her to face him. "Just what?"

She looked up into his eyes and pulled away from his arms. "I - I know we're too young to..." She but her lip. "I think – that I – y'know..." She looked up at him with pain-filled eyes. "I'm sorry." She took a shaky breath and ran out of the school without a glance back.

T.J. stood in the middle of the classroom, not moving a muscle. He stared at the blackboard without blinking, his hands clenched at his sides.

He closed his eyes, and wiped away a tear that managed to escape. When he opened his eyes again, they were clear and furious.

He slapped a hand on his desk. "Fucking Weems," he muttered.

With plans of a gruesome year for Randall playing about in his head, T.J. left the classroom to find Spinelli.

Minutes later, he found her leaning against their dumpster, face cleared of any sign she's been crying. She didn't notice him until he was just feet away.

"Hey, Spinelli," T.J. said, stopping before her.

She stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes again.

"Don't do that," he pleaded. "I hate seeing you cry."

"I can't help it!" Spinelli kicked a rock. "Today's gonna ruin our friendship and – and..." she broke off.

"And what?" T.J. asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Spinelli hesitated before finishing. "And...us."

They were silent for a few seconds before T.J. said, "About what you almost said in there."

Spinelli closed her eyes and held back the tears. "Yeah," her voice caught.

"Well, about that – "

"Look, I shouldn't've said anything, okay? Just forget it." Spinelli bit her lip and turned away from him, forcing herself not to cry.

T.J. smiled. "I think that I, y'know...too," he said, and waited for her reaction. He didn't have to wait long.

With a half laugh, half sob, Spinelli threw herself into his arms and clung to him like her life depended on it. "I thought you hated me," she muttered into his shirt.

"I could never hate you, Ashley," T.J. said with such horror, Spinelli pulled back and tentatively pressed her lips to his.

A tiny voice inside her head whispered, _You're too young. Stop._

Spinelli ignored the voice, and closed her eyes, and felt T.J.'s arm wrap gently around her waist.

That very second, a girl in pink rounded the corner, and screamed.

Spinelli and T.J. jumped apart. The Pink Girl screamed again.

"What the hell, Race?" Spinelli yelled at her.

Race screamed again.

"Somebody please, for the love of God, shut her up," T.J. groaned, covering his ears.

Just as Race was about to scream again, the entire school population surrounded the three of them, trying to see what the screaming was all about.

"Who screamed?" someone asked.

"What's going on?"

"Did someone die?"

"Oh my God! Is Alf taking over the school?! Everyone hide!"

More screams echoed off the dumpster, before Race finally calmed down enough to tell everyone what was going on.

"Spinelli and T.J. were kissing!" she yelled, pointing at the two and jumping up and down.

Silence settled over the playground.

"What?!" someone screeched.

Spinelli and T.J. looked at each other, faces beet red, and tried not to panic.

"Remember the plan," T.J. whispered to her, his hand reaching out to grasp hers.

A gasp went around the crowd.

Race, realizing that she had the hand in the pot here, spoke up again. "They were _tongue_ kissing!" she declared proudly.

Again, silence hummed around them.

Spinelli took a deep breath and, dropping T.J.'s hand, spun around to face him.

"Sorry," she whispered and slapped him across the face. "What the hell are you doing?" she yelled at him, an apology in her eyes.

T.J. pressed a hand to his stinging cheek and glared at her. "Yeah, like it's all my fault," he shouted back. "That hurt," he whispered.

"Sorry," Spinelli mouthed and took a step forwards. She kicked a pile of dirt at him. "_You _were the one who kissed _me,_ boyo! Don't pass the blame! I thought you were my best friend!"

T.J. stepped forward and grabbed her arm. "Spinelli – "

Spinelli jerked her arm away. "Don't touch me! If you ever, _ever_ come near me again, I'll make sure you..." Her voice wavered and she took a deep breath. "Just stay away from me, Detweiler." She spun on her heels and took off across the playground, leaving T.J. and the rest of the students staring after her in disbelief.

Vince and Gretchen stepped forward out of the crowd.

"Ah, what just happened here?" Vince asked.

T.J. shook his head. "Follow me," he said, "and I'll tell you."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Randall crept around the corner of the building. He stared at the spot where T.J. and Spinelli had stood, and fell to his knees, clutching at his hair.

"No! Why, oh _why_ did they do this to me?! After all I've done for them!" He pulled out a chunk of his hair and glared angrily at it. "Those ungrateful wretches. I'll teach _them_ to interfere with my plans of Total Playground Domination!"


	7. 57th Street

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I own nothing, and I am nothing._

**_Chapter Seven: _**_57th Street___

_"That_ was your plan?" Vince asked incredulously. "Alienating Spinelli and yourself in front of the entire school?"

T.J. nodded, his eyes downcast.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Vince turned and kicked a garbage can. "Spinelli was one of us! How could you do this to her?"

"Look," T.J. said. "It was the only way to get Randall off our backs. If we hadn't done this, he would have either told the whole school, or tried to blackmail us with it."

No one looked convinced. 

"Oh, come on! You guys have got to understand!" He glanced around at his friends, and they looked none too impressed with them. "Gretchen?"

She looked away and said nothing.

"Fine." He sighed. "How else would _you_ have done it?"

Gretchen opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, a look of utter confusion crossing her face. Vince looked the same way, and both Gus and Mikey looked like they were going to cry.

"Spinelli's not our friend anymore!" Gus wailed, waving his arms around helplessly. He broke out in a fresh bout of tears, setting Mikey off, and soon they were clinging to each other, sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's not that," T.J. said, trying desperately to explain. "She's just…not part of _us_ for a while." A wave of sadness and loss swept over him and he forced his face to remain stolid. "This is how we're going to deal with this. Until everyone forgets about the…scene back there, this is our group." He looked around at his four remaining friends. "This is our life – without Spinelli." His voice shook when he said her name. 

No one said anything when T.J. lowered himself to the ground and covered his face with his hands, his entire body shaking with sobs.

* * * * *

Spinelli ran until she felt like she was going to collapse. She didn't know how far she ran, or how long. All she knew was that the farther away she was from that school, the better.

She leaned against a lamppost and tried to catch her breath. She was standing in a part of town she'd never been in before. The weather seemed dark and gloomy, even though it was the middle of the day and over at 3rd Street, the air had been clear and warm. Here, it was thick and muggy.

Everywhere she looked, something was either on fire, or falling down. An old beggar man slumped by her, pushing a rickety shopping cart filled with garbage.

She took a deep breath. "Excuse me," she asked the old man, praying he wasn't an axe murderer. He looked up at her with hollow, empty eyes, but didn't say anything. Spinelli didn't know if he even saw her. "Um…could you perhaps tell me exactly where I am?"

The old man continued to stare at her until Spinelli could feel herself becoming smaller and smaller. Then he pointed up at the lamppost she was leaning on, and pushed his cart away.

She looked up, and gasped. Atop the lamppost was a street sign, which read _57th Street_.

"Oh God, how did I get _here?_" 

Spinelli walked around 57th Street for what seemed like hours. She tried to keep herself thinking about how to get back to 3rd Street, but her mind kept wandering back to what had happened on the playground.

_I knew it was a bad idea, _she grumbled to herself. _And look where it took me!_ She glanced cautiously down the street. It was still deserted. _This is all Randall's fault. I hate him._

She sighed helplessly and slumped down on a suspicious-looking bench that sagged under her light weight. "I'm so lost," she said.

* * * * *

Back in Ms Grotke's classroom, the entire class buzzed with what had happened.

"Did you see them?"

"I've never seen anything so horrible…"

"It was so strange…"

"T.J…."

"Spinelli…"

"…Together…"

T.J. stared straight ahead, refusing to look at anyone.

"Hey," Gus said. "Where _is_ Spinelli?"

Everyone looked around.

"She's not here," Gretchen said, surprised.

T.J. snapped out of his trance. "What?"

"Where's Spinelli?" Vince asked.

T.J. blinked. "She's not here?"

Vince shook his head. "No, dude. Nobody's seen her since – well, since recess."

"Oh. Oh, shit!" The Ashelys' gasped at T.J. choice of words. "We have to find her!" He lept up just as Ms Grotke entered the classroom.

"Theodore Detweiler!" she glared at him. "Sit down."

T.J. sat back down, but his body remained tense, prepared to run at the first chance.

Ms Grotke scanned the classroom. "Where's Ashley Spinelli?" she asked.

T.J. and his friends looked at each other, and Gretchen raised her hand. "Ah, Ms Grotke, she felt sick at recess and had to go home.

Ms Grotke raised an eyebrow. "Well, why wasn't I given a note of absence?"

"Oh, she couldn't, Ms Grotke," Ashley A. spoke up from the back of the class. "She was _really_ sick."

"Yeah," Ashley B. said. "She threw up all over the bushes."

"It was really gross." This was from Ashley Q. who looked convincingly disgusted.

T.J. shot a grateful smile at them and they snarled back at him.

"You owe us, Detweiler," Ashley A. mouthed, and T.J. just nodded.

"Oh," Ms Grotke said. "Well. I hope she feels better. T.J.," she turned on him. He recoiled back into his seat. "Could you be a dear and take Spinelli's homework to her after school?"

The class fell silent and turned to watch T.J.'s response. He froze. "Ah – um," he stammered.

"I'll take them to her, Ms Grotke," Gretchen said.

Ms Grotke frowned. "All right, thank you Gretchen." She looked at T.J. "Is everything all right with you and Spinelli?" she asked.

T.J. could fell the sadness and loss engulfing him again, but he just nodded and smiled. "Yeah, everything's great. Why?"

"No reason." But Ms Grotke didn't look convinced. "Open your books to page 154. We'll be continuing our studies of the Ancient Egyptians today."

T.J. stared down at the words on the page. They all blurred into one big blob, and he blinked away the tears. But the feelings were too strong, too powerful. He was drowning, suffocating…

He raised his hand. "Ms Grotke? I'm not feeling too well, either."

Vince and Gretchen glanced at him sharply, knowing what his intentions were. "T.J., don't do this," Gretchen hissed at him. T.J. just shook his head at her.

"Oh, well, would you like me to phone your parents?" Ms Grotke asked, concerned.

"No," T.J. said, getting to his feet. "I think I'll just walk home. The fresh air might help me." He could feel the eyes of his peers follow him to the door. "I'll get my mum to phone you tonight, if that's okay."

"Okay," Ms Grotke replied, a knowing smile on her face. "Get a good night's sleep, T.J."

"Bye T.J.," the class echoed, and erupted in whispered and speculation on why T.J. was leaving.

He closed the door behind him and waited until he was two feet away from the front doors before taking off at a run. 


	8. The Unknown

**Disclaimer:** _I dunno. That in itself says everything._

**Chapter Eight: **_The Unknown_

T.J. searched the entire town, but still found no sign of Spinelli. He asked everyone he could find if they'd seen a girl about his height, with black hair and an orange cap. But they hadn't seen anyone like that. He reached 56th Street and had nearly given up hope, when he saw an old man pushing a cart.

Feeling desperate and clinging to the chance that his could be his last resort to finding Spinelli, he ventured further into 56th Street.

The street gradually grew darker and darker and he neared the old man. T.J. pulled his jacket tighter around him and picked up the pace. He stopped in front of the old man, but the old man didn't look up. He was staring at his dirty, wrinkled hands with a look of utter despair on his weather-beaten face. T.J. cleared his throat, but the old man continued to stare at his hands.

"Uh, excuse me," T.J. said uncertainly. "I – I was wondering if you could tell me – " he broke off when the man looked up at him with empty eyes.

"Cross into the unknown," the man said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "There your angel will be waiting."

"What – " 

The man turned away from T.J. and walked into a crumbling building. T.J. stared after him in confusion.

"Wait!" T.J. yelled. "The unknown?  What the hell does that mean?" He kicked a pop can in frustration, and watched as it rolled into a dark alley. He looked down the deserted street to his right, and the brightly lit street to his left. "The unknown," he muttered and followed the Pepsi can into the alley.

*~*~*~*

Spinelli wandered dejectedly up and down 57th Street, afraid to leave in case someone decided to come looking for her.

"First rule of Boy Scouts," she muttered. "If you get lost, stay in one place." She looked sullenly around her, and sighed in defeat. "No one's ever going to find me here. Who would bother looking?"

She slumped down on the sagging bench, and put her head in her hands. "This sucks," she groaned.

"Spinelli?" a voice said from across the street. "Hey, Spinelli!"

She jerked up straight and stared at the person who had called her name. "Chad?" she said, unable to believe her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked her as he crossed the street and sat down next to her on the bench.  The aging wood groaned with the effort of holding up two bodies. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Spinelli narrowed her eyes. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"Ah, well you see, it's a long story," Chad said, scratching the back of his head.

Spinelli leaned back on the bench. "I've got time."

He sighed. "Look, I should probably tell you now before you find out from someone else," he said, receiving a confused look from Spinelli. He sighed again, more dramatically this time, and said, "Me 'n Bruiser 'n Mouse got kicked out of the last six schools we've gone to." He looked at Spinelli, and she just stared back.

"So?" she said, shrugging. "I've nearly got expelled tons of times. The only reason none of us have been kicked out of school yet is because of T.J." When she said his name, her face crumbled and she tried to fight back the tears.

Chad saw this and was going to pretend he didn't, but curiosity and an inexplicable feeling of protectiveness for this girl took over. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"

Spinelli shook her head and stared at the ground, tears occasionally falling to the dusty street.

Chad narrowed his eyes. "What'd he do to you?"

She gave a watery laugh. "Nothing. T.J.'d never do anything to hurt me. It's just – " she hesitated.

"Just what?"

"You remember that kid, Randall Weems? The one you guys nearly beat to a pulp yesterday morning?"

Chad's face contorted into disgust. "That ugly weasel? Yeah, I remember him. Kid tried to break my finger." He looked lovingly down at his hand and Spinelli gave him a funny look. "My guitar," he reminded her.

"Oh, right. Anyway, he was gonna blackmail me and T.J. with some – information he found out about us."

"What does he want, a recess of no beatings?"

Spinelli shook her head. "No. Mission TPD."

"Mission TPD? What's that, like Toilet Paper Duty or something?"

Spinelli snickered.  "No.  It means Total Playground Domination. He's been trying to take over the playground since third grade. He actually stole my diary – ah, my journal once and threatened to tell everyone what page 13 said if I didn't help him overthrow King Bob."

Chad nodded. "There's one of 'em at every school." He was quiet for a few seconds, then he asked, "So, what was on page 13?"


	9. Page 13

**__**

Disclaimer: Discussing the many things I do not own makes me feel depressed and worthless. This is my latest attempt to write something stupid for this damn story. Sorry about the crappiness.

****

Chapter 9: Page 13

Spinelli stared at him and every intelligent thought tumbled out of her mind. "Wha…huh?"

"Page 13," Chad reminded her with a grin and leaned closer. "What'd it say?"

She racked her brain for something, anything, to say. "Um…" 

__

Think, Spinelli, think! Make something up!

"Well?" he prodded. "Did it say something or not?"

"Yes," she spat and glared at him. "I just don't wanna tell you." She crossed her arms and leaned back on the bench, her bottom lip protruding in a pout.

Chad rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, who'm I gonna tell? Bruiser? Mouse? My cat?"

"You have a cat?"

"Don't change the subject. Why won't you tell me what it says?"

"Because I'm mad at T.J.," she muttered and winced. _Even the mere mention of his name makes me cringe,_ she thought in disgust. She sighed and shook her head. "What I wrote on that page, it had to do with T.J., and I don't want him finding out about it now, of all times."

Chad whistled. "So, it was that big of a thing, huh? What'd he do?"

Her head whipped up and she glared at him. "What makes you think _he_ did anything?"

He blinked at her and raised his hands in defence. "Woah, calm down. I was just asking."

"I'm sorry," she said with another sigh, and let her head drop forward. "It's just – I – " She broke off and lifted her face to the sky, blinking away tears.

Chad cautiously put an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, don't do that. I'm sure everything'll be okay in the end. I'm sure – "

"No, it won't! I've screwed everything up and now T.J. hates me and everyone at school hates me…" A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. She furiously wiped it away and sat up straight, her shoulders squared. "I'm never going back there again," she said with steel determination.

Chad narrowed his eyes at her. "Ashley – " he said warily and then let out a breath of relief when she didn't smack him. "Look, Ashley, I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but school's important." She gave him an incredulous look. "I'm serious. You can't get a job without a high school diploma. I really don't think that something as minor as a fight with one of your friends is a good enough reason to drop out of school."

Spinelli's shoulders drooped and she closed her eyes. Neither of them said anything. After a couple of minutes, she broke the silence. "I wrote a poem."

"What?"

"A poem. I wrote a poem." Chad gave her a blank look. "On page 13…there's a poem on page 13."

"Oh." He struggled to keep a straight face. "You wrote a poem. And I'm assuming this poem was about a boy, perhaps by the name of T.J."

She sighed. "Yeah. But no one knows about my poetry, and I don't want anyone to know. I've got a reputation of being a bad-ass, and bad-asses don't write poems." She paused. "And I didn't want T.J. finding out that I like him."

"Uh huh. Poetry, eh? Hmm."

"Shut up, Chad."

"Want me to walk you back to school?" Chad stood up and offered Spinelli his hand.

She stared up at him in disbelief. "Haven't you been listening to a word I've said?"

He smirked. "Yeah, you just said that you're a girl who writes poetry about your best friend. What's wrong with that?"

Spinelli's mouth flapped open and closed a couple times, and then she closed it and pouted. "Everything, if you're me." Chad just stared at her. She sighed. "Fine, there's nothing wrong with it. I just wanted to kick Randall's ass."

"That's what I thought. Now let's get you back to school."

"I don't wanna go back."

Chad let out an exasperated sigh and flopped back down on the bench beside Spinelli. "What's the problem now?"

"It's the same problem as before, Chad! I can't go back to school! Everyone there hates me. I'll have to dye my hair pink and move to…to…Albania!" She crossed her arms and pouted again.

"Dude, you're totally overreacting to all this." Chad tentatively placed his arm across her shoulders. "I mean, so it was one stupid thing. They'll all forget about it in like a week."

She looked at him sideways and tried to relax. "You think?"

"I know. Trust me. I've been through this kinda thing millions of times." He gave her shoulders a squeeze and stood up again. "Now are you ready to go back?"

With her head tilted to the side, she considered the consequences of returning to 3rd Street Elementary. After a long, hard contemplation, she shook her head. "Nope."

Chad rolled his eyes skyward and cursed himself for caring. "Why the hell not?"

"Because."

"Because…because why?"

"Because I don't want to." She paused and looked down at her dusty clothes. "Not looking like this, anyway."

"You want to go home and change?"

"No, I want to go into town and go shopping."

Chad shook his head. "Girls," he muttered and grabbed Spinelli's hand.

__

Yeah, that was pretty much a crappy chapter, but I was bored, and the story needed some filler. I redid what I had before…actually, I took the scene with T.J. out because it sucked. Sorry about that. The next chapter will have Chad and Spinelli's interesting shopping trip and a confrontation with a new character.


	10. Lord of the Fashion and the Pink Philoso...

****

Disclaimer: _That's right, it's time for another chapter of this worthless story. The disclaimers are as usual. There's a new character! It's my friend Sabrina, except her name is Pandora. And this chapter is really long to make up for the short chapters that proceeded it._

****

Chapter Ten: _Lord of the Fashion and the Pink Philosophy_

****

"Remind me again why we're going shopping," Chad groaned as Spinelli dragged him into Old Navy.

"Clothes," came Spinelli's muffled reply as she disappeared behind a rack of shirts.

Chad rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got that much, but why?"

She poked her head out from around the shirts and smiled. "I need a new look. I can't very well go back to school looking like this."

"Oh," Chad said with a frown and Spinelli disappeared behind the rack again. "Girls are weird."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. You're doing this wrong." He jabbed at one of the shirts on display and twitched his nose. "All wrong."

With a sigh, Spinelli walked around the shirts and stood before him, her hands on her hips. "What am I doing wrong? Shopping?" Chad nodded. "Okay, I admit I don't do this very often – in fact, I've never actually been shopping out of free will, but I think I know how to buy a shirt."

Chad snorted. "You tryin' to look like a prep, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"This," he gestured to the happy clothes around them, "is where girls with names like Vanessa and Rebecca shop. Not where girls with names like Spinelli shop."

She snorted. "Oh, well I guess you'd know more about that than me," she paused and glanced pointedly at his AC/DC shirt and cutoff shorts, "Mr. Fashion."

Chad smirked. "That's right."

"Well then, what should I do first, oh mighty Fashion God?"

"Get out of this store, to start." Chad grabbed her arm and pulled her outside. "Okay." He gave her a critical once-over and pulled the orange hat off her head. "Are you incredibly attached to your hair?"

She brought a hand up to smooth down her curls. "Well it kinda grows out of my head, so yeah." She frowned. "Why?"

"Ever thought about getting it cut?"

Her eyes grew wide and she slowly shook her head. "No way, man. Out of the question."

Chad shrugged. "Okay. Then the first step is getting rid of this hat," he said, waving the orange thing in the air and then tossing it in the nearest garbage can.

"Hey!" Spinelli exclaimed and made a leap for the bin. "That was mine!"

"And now it's the rats'. It was smelly. It had to go."

She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout and turned away from him. He rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Spinelli. It was just a hat."

"No, it was a _special_ hat," she whined.

"It was orange. How special could it be?" He paused. "Unless…"

She turned to face him again. "Yeah, unless."

"He gave it to you, didn't he?"

Emotions Chad didn't know an eleven-year-old could feel flashed in Spinelli's eyes. Then she shuttered them and gave him a blank stare.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Chad sighed. "Fine. Let's consider this a closed subject for now. No more talk of T.J. for the rest of the day."

She gave him a stiff smile and seemed to relax a bit. "'Kay."

"Okay, I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but…let's go shopping."

Spinelli laughed. "Yes, Lord of the Fashion."

"Shut up, you."

* * * * *

"I'm tired. Are we done yet? Do I really need all this? Chad, I don't need another shirt. Please, have mercy!" Spinelli flopped down on the closest bench and dropped all her shopping bags on the ground.

"Just one more," Chad begged and looked longingly in the window of a store at a black Atticus t-shirt. "You don't have that one yet."

"Yeah, but I have every other shirt from every other store. I really don't think it'll matter. Besides, I have no money left." She dug her wallet out of her pocket and stuck a finger inside the part where the money should've been. "I started with a hundred dollars, and now I'm down to fifteen cents. Hang on, you spent that on candy. I'm poor," she wailed.

"Don't do that," Chad exclaimed and clamped his hand over his ears. "It hurts."

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry."

"I'll be right back." He made a beeline for the store with the shirt and Spinelli gave an exasperated groan.

"Oh, that was subtle," she muttered and mindlessly poked through her many bags to pass time. Five minutes later, Chad emerged from the store triumphant, carrying yet another bag in his hand.

"Chad, I – don't – need – another – shirt. Really."

He sat down beside her and thrust the bag in her face. "It's a gift."

Spinelli raised an eyebrow at him. "Is it now? Why?"

"Why not?"

"Um…because you don't really know me and…why?"

He shrugged. "You've been nice to me, and you liked our music." He gave her a sly grin. "And it'll look good on you."

"Riiight." She gave him a funny look. "Well then. You can carry these bags home for me, since you're the one who forced me to buy them." She shoved more than half the bags at him and stood up.

"Hey, don't I get a thanks?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He looked disappointed. "That's not what I was expecting."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Where are we going?"

"My house to drop all this stuff off, and so I can get changed."

Chad hefted the bags onto his shoulders and tried to balance a shoebox on his head. "Right. And how far is your house from here?"

"Eight blocks."

"Goddamn it!"

"Don't use the Lord's name in vain."

"Oh, shut up. You do it too."

"That's beside the point." She grabbed the shoebox before it fell. "Why are you just standing there? Let's get moving."

Chad muttered something that sounded very similar to "Girls are stupid."

Spinelli responded by slapping him on the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I'm a girl. I do stupid things." She sauntered past him, hips moving back and forth in an exaggerated manner, shoebox balanced precariously on top of her head.

Chad grinned at her retreating back. "Where'd you learn to walk like that?"

She froze and the shoebox fell to the ground. "I – uh – don't know what you mean. Walk like what?" With trembling hands she picked up the sneakers that had been tipped out of the box.

"Like a model or pageant girly." Chad put his hands on his hips and wiggled around a bit. "Like that."

The tension evaporated from her body and Spinelli laughed. "I _so_ did not walk like that. You look like a retarded noodle."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "A retarded noodle? Well then, why don't you show me exactly the way you walked."

She stuck her nose in the air. "Fine. I will." She shoved the shoebox into his hands and, with an air of superiority and pride, she replayed her catwalk strut, this time with a little more grace and emphasis.

Chad's mouth dropped open. "How – "

She smirked at him. "Little Miss Blush 1999, thank you very much." She grabbed the shoebox from him and headed down the street again.

"_You_ were in a beauty pageant?" His eyes grew wide and he sucked in his breath. "I need to sit down." But instead, he fell in line with Spinelli, and tried to imagine this crude, kick-ass girl in army boots in some la-dee-da pretty-fest.

Spinelli rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, it's not _that_ hard to believe, is it?"

He gave her a skeptical look. "Yes," he said without hesitation.

Spinelli pouted. "You don't think I'm beauty pageant material?"

The blood drained from Chad's face and his eyes became panicked. "No – I mean, sure – uh…yes?"

There was silence…for about two seconds, and then Spinelli snorted. "The pageant was a joke."

"You mean it wasn't real? You made it all up?" He looked so hopeful, Spinelli began to wonder if he had a thing against pageants.

She shook her head. "No, it was real. The concept of it was a joke, though. All the answers had to be about world peace and all that junk."

"World peace," Chad muttered and Spinelli grinned.

"Exactly what I said. But I answered their dumb questions, and then, when they put me through the final cut, I did what I could to screw it up. And yet I won," she said thoughtfully. "They said I was what every Miss Blush contestant should be – herself." She shrugged. "They were old and probably senile. So whatever."

"Mmm."

Chad seemed to have passed the stunned and horrified stage, and had moved on to subtle acceptance. That was fine with Spinelli.

They walked together in quiet semi-understanding until they reached a small rancher and Spinelli spread her arms out. "Well," she said. "This is it."

"This is what?"

"Home sweet home."

"Great," Chad muttered. "Now can we get inside before I die from suffocation?"

* * * * *

TJ could feel blisters forming on the bottom of his feet. Beads of perspiration were forming on his forehead; he felt like he'd been walking for hours, but when he glanced at his watch, he was surprised to find that he'd only been gone for three-quarters of an hour. He'd taken the old, blind man's advice and gone down the alley, but it had taken him nowhere. In fact, it had been a dead end. When he'd emerged out into the dim light of the street, the old man was nowhere to be seen.

So now, here he was, trudging his way back to 3rd Street Elementary, painful blisters on the soles of his feet, and not a clue as to where Spinelli had disappeared to. She wasn't at home; he'd checked half an hour ago. She wasn't at the Arcade; neither was she at Kelso's. He'd run out of places to look. So now he was giving up, like the coward he was.

_Coward_, he scoffed inwardly. _If it wasn't for my stupid idea, I wouldn't have to look for Spinelli. We'd be playing dodgeball right about now._

But they weren't, and he'd pretty much screwed up his entire friendship with Spinelli. Granted, the whole fight scene was just a fake, but no one else knew that, except their friends, and that's the way it had to stay.

As he neared the school, he could hear the familiar playground noises of kids laughing and basketballs bouncing. He even heard the scraping of metal on dirt, the Diggers beginning yet another hole. What he didn't hear, however, was the husky voice of a certain girl threatening other children with her fist.

He sighed and sat down on the curb. Oh, how he missed that voice.

T.J. was so caught up in his memories of Spinelli he didn't see the little girl until she let out a pitiful, heaving sob. He jumped and turned to her.

"Ah…are you okay?" he asked and edged away from her.

The girl looked up at him with red eyes and tears streaming down her face. "I – I – " she sobbed and began to wail.

T.J. blinked. "Um…you want a tissue or something?"

The girl shook her head. "No…I – I want – my – brother! Waaaah!" She buried her face in her hands.

With a silent curse, T.J. moved a little closer to the girl. "What's your name? I haven't seen you around here before."

The girl ceased her crying a bit and peered at him. _He has pretty eyes_, she thought and gave him a little smile. "Pandora," she whispered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Pandora L. Williams."

_Williams_, T.J. repeated to himself. _That sounds familiar._

She blushed when he grinned at her. "That's an interesting name," he said and stuck out his hand. "I'm T.J. Detweiler."

Pandora hiccuped and shook his hand. "What does T.J. stand for?" she asked and scuttled up next to him.

T.J. cleared his throat. "Aah…nothing. It's just T.J."

"Oh, but it's got to stand for something. Like my middle initial stands for Louise. It's my mama's name, and my grandmama's name, and my great-grandmama's name."

"I see. Well it's nice to meet you, Pandora Louise Williams. Why are you crying?"

She looked at the ground and tears started to fall from her eyes again. "I lost my brother."

"You did? Is he younger than you?"

"No, he's older. And lots smarter. And he never, _never_ gets lost. But I do. I get lost all the time. Just like today."

"Hmm. What's your brother's name?"

"Chewy."

T.J. raised an eyebrow. "Chewy? Chewy and Pandora. Your parents must have been hippies or something."

Pandora smiled. "No, they just liked to read."

"Um, okay. So where did this – Chewy lose you?"

She blushed a little again. "Well, he didn't really lose me. I was supposed to meet him in front of Kelso's at 10:00, but I got lost."

"Kelso's, huh? Well I can take you there, if you want. It's only a couple blocks away."

"Really? You'd do that?" Pandora gave him an adoring look. "You're the greatest, T.J."

This time, it was T.J.'s turn to blush. "Ahh, well, you know. It's all for the good of…stuff…and…yeah. No problem." He stood up and offered his hand. "Come on."

Pandora gripped his hand and he pulled her to her feet, but when he tried to let go, she just held on tighter. His blush deepened and he prayed no one from the school would see him.

"Why are you sad?"

The question pulled him out of his reverie and he glanced down at the little girl in the pink sweater. "What?"

"Why are you sad? What made you sad?"

"I'm not sad."

"Yes, you are. I can see it in your eyes."

"I'm not – " _She already knows_, a small voice told him._ She knows what no one else could see. Why don't you just tell her?_

He sighed. "Your parents did a good job choosing your name." She grinned at him and he saw that she was missing one of her bottom teeth. "Did the tooth fairy bring you money for that?" He pointed at her mouth.

She stuck her tongue through the gap. "A whole dollar. But you're changing the subject. Chewy does that sometimes, too. You're a lot like him."

T.J. sighed again, this time more dramatically. "All right, I'll tell you why I'm sad. But you can't tell a soul what I'm about to reveal to you," he warned her and wagged his finger in her face.

She giggled and shook her head. "I'm the best at keeping secrets."

"Good. So you see, there's this girl – "

"Chewy always says _that_, too!"

"Oh yeah? Well Chewy seems like he's got the same problems I do. So anyways, this girl and me, we used to be real good friends. But then we realized that we – you know, liked each other, and then this loser named Randall found out about us, and since Sp – this girl has a reputation to keep at school, we had to stage this fight between me and her. And then I said some stuff that made her a little angry, and now she probably hates me and will never talk to me again." T.J. sucked in a breath of air and waited for the little girl's response.

Pandora dropped his hand and tugged on his arm. "I think you still like her, and if she did all that stuff, then she likes you too."

T.J. shrugged. "Not after what happened."

"No, she's just scared."

"Scared?" He tried to picture Spinelli being afraid of something and nearly laughed. "Naw, this girl's not afraid of anything."

"Everyone's afraid of something," Pandora said simply and walked a bit ahead. "Maybe she's afraid of everyone finding out she's changed."

T.J. stopped and stared at the little girl in the pink sweater and pigtails standing before him, philosophizing about fears and change.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Eight. Look! There's Kelso's! Thanks a bunch, T.J." She ran toward the entrance, then stopped and turned around to face him again. "And I hope you and that girl become friends again."

"Me too," he murmured and watched the pink sweater disappear into the store. "Me too."


End file.
